Bullet Train

by Kotaro Isaka

  And if he couldn’t do that, he would have felt like he had reached the limit of his powers.

  He saw it as a challenge, a test of his skills and abilities.

  ‘I wasn’t scared of you, Mr Kimura,’ he replies. ‘What happened with your son was just part of a test. Like an aptitude test.’

  Kimura doesn’t seem to understand what this means, but he gathers that the Prince is making light of his comatose son. His face reddens again and the confidence he felt a moment ago vanishes. That’s better, thinks the Prince.

  He lifts the bag up to his seat and dials the combination back to 0600, then opens it.

  ‘So now his highness wants the money? Guess your parents don’t give you much allowance.’

  He ignores Kimura’s taunt and reaches in, takes the debit cards, tucks them into his pocket. Then he closes and locks the bag and grips it by the handle.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I thought I would put the bag back.’

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Exactly what it sounds like. I’m going to put it back where it was, in the panel over the garbage bin. Oh, or maybe I’ll put it somewhere easier to find. That’s probably better. I could just leave it on the luggage rack.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I found out what’s in it. Now I don’t really care about it any more. It’ll be more fun to watch the other people who want it fight over it. And I took the debit cards, so that should cause some problems for someone down the line.’

  Kimura stares, flummoxed. He can’t seem to wrap his head around what motivates the Prince. I bet he’s not used to people doing things for any reason besides money or bragging rights. He can’t relate to my desire to figure out how people work.

  ‘I’ll be back.’ The Prince stands and steps towards the door, wheeling the suitcase behind him.

  Morning Glory

  HE MAKES A PHONE CALL and reports, The job’s done. At the other end of the line is a man who could be called a go-between. He used to do jobs too, years ago, but he put on weight and slowed down, and now that he’s into his fifties he’s established himself as a contract broker.

  Morning Glory used to handle his own contracts, but these days he’s been getting jobs from the go-between. He had grown tired of negotiating jobs, ever since the byzantine arrangements around the large-scale operation to bring down the Maiden organisation six years back.

  That whole affair started at the same large intersection. The memories reawaken. A man who worked as a tutor, two children and a woman, Brian Jones, pasta, the images bubble up without context or order. They cavort through his head, then settle like dust, then fade.

  The go-between says, Good work, and then, While I have you.

  He gets a sinking feeling.

  The go-between continues, I’ve got good news and bad news.

  He smiles acridly. The go-between always says that.

  I’m not interested in either.

  Don’t say that. Okay, bad news first, says the man. I just got an urgent call from someone I know. There’s a job, could be a bit of a pain, and it has to be done right now.

  Sounds rough. Morning Glory’s voice is neutral, he’s merely being polite. Now for the good news. The site for the job is right near where you are.

  Morning Glory stops walking. He looks around. A broad avenue and a convenience store, not much else.

  Those both sound like bad news to me.

  The client, well, we go way back, this is someone who’s helped me out before. I’m not in a position to say no, confesses the go-between.

  That’s got nothing to do with me. It isn’t that Morning Glory is against the work itself, but he prefers not to pull two jobs in one day.

  This guy who’s asking me, he’s like a big brother, he showed me the ropes back in the day. And he’s the real thing, a classic, the go-between says with some excitement. If he were a video game he’d be Hydlide or Xanadu, one of the greats.

  You’ll have to use an analogy I understand.

  Okay, if he were a band he’d be the Rolling Stones. Ah, them I know. Morning Glory smiles slightly.

  Or no, more like the Who. Because they broke up, but they get back together every once in a while.

  Yes, well, regardless.

  What, you don’t like the classics?

  Anything that’s existed for a long time deserves respect. Survival is proof of superiority.

  What kind of job is it, anyway?

  He decides to at least hear the man out. The go-between sounds happy, apparently taking this as a sign of assent.

  Morning Glory listens to the job description and almost laughs out loud. Not only are the details extremely vague but it’s not at all the sort of work he’s suited for.

  Why would you say that? What makes you think you’re not right for the job?

  I only work where there are cars or trains going by. Vehicles don’t pass through buildings. Indoors isn’t my field. Ask someone else.

  I understand that, but there’s no time. And it’s right near where you are. No one else could make it in time. I’m actually on my way there right now. I’ve been arranging jobs for other people for years now, it’s been forever since I actually worked a job, but I’ve got no choice. I have to get out there for this one.

  Should do you some good. And like you said, you’re not in a position to refuse.

  I’m a little nervous, says the go-between, his voice quavering slightly, like a recent graduate confessing their fear of going out in the real world. It’s been a long time since I worked, so I’m nervous. That’s why I’m asking you to come with.

  Even if I did, what could I do? People call me the Pusher. This job doesn’t require any pushing. It’s like asking a shot-putter to run a marathon.

  All I’m asking is for you to come with me. I’m almost there.

  I’ll be praying for you.

  Really? Thanks, Morning Glory. I owe you one.

  Morning Glory is left wondering how exactly the man interpreted that as agreeing to come along.

  Fruit

  TANGERINE EXITS THE BATHROOM AND steps up to the sink, in no particular rush.

  He immediately recognised the man who had entered car three as someone from their world. The man looked a bit younger than Tangerine and Lemon, and his black-framed glasses gave him an intellectual air. He also seemed somehow naive, trying to act natural, but obviously jumpy. When he passed by their seats he had to make a serious effort not to look their way.

  Tangerine, in turn, had to make a serious effort not to laugh.

  The timing couldn’t have been any more perfect.

  Here’s our sacrificial offering, right on cue. If they were going to pin their failure on someone else, as Lemon suggested, they couldn’t ask for a more ideal victim than this particular individual. His arrival was like a ray of light shining into a dead-end alley.

  Tangerine left Lemon alone with the man for no reason other than that he had to go for a leak. He didn’t want to be worrying about holding it in when things got more serious and figured he would relieve himself while they still had some breathing room. It didn’t seem likely Lemon would have a problem handling this guy on his own.

  The man with the black glasses – he’s the one who works for Maria. While he was pissing he recalled what he knew about this character. Same field as him and Lemon, which is to say, not especially picky about what jobs he takes, a jack of all trades. They had never worked a job together, but the rumours said he was good, despite being relatively new to the game.

  Even if he is good I doubt he’s a match for Lemon, Tangerine muses as he washes his hands carefully. I’m sure by now he’s taken his beating and is behaving nicely. He scrubs his fingers one by one, then turns off the water and waves his hands in front of the dryer.

  The slim mobile phone in his rear pocket starts buzzing quietly. He recognises the number on the caller ID: it’s Momo, a fat woman who runs a hole-in-the-wall adult bookstore in T
okyo. She carries the whole range, from the merely suggestive to the hardest of hardcore, an exhaustive selection of adult magazines for old-fashioned people who still preferred their porn in print. While she has enough regular customers to stay in business, sales are never phenomenal. But her shop also happens to be a hub for underworld intel. The extralegal crowd comes to her for information, and they have to give information in exchange. Over the years Momo has become a central node in the criminal information network. Depending on the job Tangerine and Lemon will go to her to buy information, and sometimes to sell it.

  ‘Tangerine honey, are you in trouble?’ she asks him over the phone.

  The racket from the tracks makes it tough to hear, and Tangerine steps over to the window and speaks loudly, feigning ignorance. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I hear Minegishi is looking to get a bunch of people together. In Sendai, in Morioka.’

  ‘Sendai? Why would Minegishi be getting people together in Sendai? Is it one of those online friends IRL meet-ups I’m always hearing about?’

  He hears Momo sigh. ‘Lemon’s right, your jokes really are terrible. There’s nothing less funny than a serious man trying to be funny.’

  ‘Gee, sorry.’

  ‘It’s not just people in Minegishi’s outfit, either. He’ll take anyone reliable who can get to Sendai in a hurry. Lots of people are getting in touch with me about it. Trying to get a bunch of people together in Sendai in the next half an hour doesn’t sound like an ordinary job.’

  ‘And you’re calling to see if we want in?’

  ‘Not exactly, no. I hear that you were spotted with Minegishi’s son. I thought maybe you two were picking a fight with Minegishi.’

  ‘A fight?’

  ‘Like maybe you kidnapped his son and you’re holding him for ransom.’

  ‘No way. We know how dangerous it is to cross Minegishi.’ Tangerine grimaces. He knows it all too well. And that’s exactly the situation in which he finds himself. ‘It’s the other way around. Minegishi hired us to rescue his son from kidnappers. Now we’re on the Shinkansen taking him home.’

  ‘Then why is Minegishi getting people together?’

  ‘I guess to make a welcoming party for us.’

  ‘I sure hope so. I like you guys. I was worried you were in some kind of a jam so I figured I’d get in touch and let you know what’s going on. It feels good to help people, doesn’t it?’

  Tangerine is about to ask her to call again if she finds out anything else when a thought occurs to him. ‘Hey, do you know the guy who works for Maria?’

  ‘Sure, Ladybird.’

  ‘Ladybird?’

  ‘His name’s Nanao. Seven in his name, seven spots on a ladybird. He’s a cutie, I like him too.’

  ‘You know they say that people in my line of work who you like, Momo, they tend to disappear.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘The Cicada.’

  ‘Oh, that really was too bad.’ She sounds sincere.

  ‘This Ladybird, what’s he like?’

  ‘I can’t tell you for free, honey.’

  ‘What happened to the woman who just said it feels good to help people? Bring her back.’

  Momo’s laughter mingles with the rattling of the door. ‘Let’s see, Nanao’s courteous and polite, a little timid-seeming, but don’t underestimate him. He’s a tough cookie.’

  ‘Tough, huh?’ He didn’t look tough. He looked better suited for office work.

  ‘Tough, or maybe fast is more like it. That’s what people say, anyway. Like, I was about to hit him but he got me first, that sort of thing. Moves like he’s spring-loaded. You know how it is, the more even-keeled someone is the more dangerous they are when they get going. A higher threat level than rougher-seeming people. That’s how Nanao is. Mild-mannered, but if he gets worked up, watch out.’

  ‘Okay, sure, but he’s probably no match for Lemon.’

  ‘Just don’t take him lightly is all I’m saying. There are more than a few people who did and ended up regretting it, probably enough of them for a good-sized meet-up IRL.’

  ‘Ha ha.’

  ‘You’ve caught a ladybird before, right? I mean the actual insect. And if you raise your index finger, it climbs up to the top?’

  Tangerine can’t quite place how he felt about insects when he was younger. He has memories of killing them wholesale, but also remembers crying over dead ones and giving them miniature funerals.

  ‘Then when the cute little ladybird gets to the tip of your finger, what happens next?’

  He recalls the sensation of the insect working its way up his young finger, a mix of alien creepiness and ticklish pleasure. Oh, now I remember. Upon reaching the summit of his finger the ladybird would pause, like it was gathering its breath, then spread its wings and float into space. ‘It flies.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s Nanao. He flies.’

  Tangerine doesn’t know how to answer. ‘Uh, humans can’t fly.’

  ‘Of course they can’t. Come on, Tangerine, you really are too uptight. It’s a metaphor. I mean when he gets cornered he flies. As in, he takes off.’

  ‘He goes crazy or something?’

  ‘More like he goes into turbo mode. Super focus. When his back’s against the wall, his reaction time, or his computation speed, whatever you want to call it, it goes off the charts.’

  Tangerine ends the conversation and hangs up. There’s no way, he thinks, but a finger of uncertainty traces the length of his spine. He’s suddenly starting to worry if Lemon is all right. His feet speed him back to car three. The door opens and the first thing he registers is Lemon, eyes closed, sitting one row back from where he had been, now directly behind the empty husk of Little Minegishi. Lemon isn’t moving. He lost. He steps over and sits down in the next seat to lay his fingers on Lemon’s neck. There’s a pulse. But he isn’t napping: Tangerine forces Lemon’s eyes open, but there’s no response. Unconscious.

  ‘Hey. Lemon.’ He speaks directly in Lemon’s ear, to no effect. Then he slaps his cheeks. Nothing.

  He stands and looks around. No sign of Nanao.

  The snack trolley happens to be passing by, though, so he stops it and buys a can of sparkling water, keeping his voice as level as he can.

  As the trolley exits the car, he presses the cold can up to Lemon’s cheek. Then his neck.

  Still nothing.

  ‘Come on. This is ridiculous. You’re nowhere near being a useful train. More like a totally useless train,’ he mutters. ‘You’re not even a train at all.’

  Lemon’s body jolts forward. His eyes open but they don’t seem to see anything. He grips Tangerine’s shoulder. ‘Who’s a useless train?’ he bellows, so loud that Tangerine claps a hand over his mouth. People shouldn’t be shouting in the train, and especially not about being trains. But the Shinkansen is passing through a tunnel and the dull roar is enough to absorb Lemon’s outburst.

  ‘Calm down. It’s me.’ Tangerine reaches the can towards Lemon’s forehead.

  ‘Huh?’ Lemon returns to himself. ‘That’s cold, man.’ He snatches the can from Tangerine, yanks the tab open, takes a gulp.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘What happened? I took the can. Now I’m drinking it.’

  ‘No, I mean what happened before. Where’s our friend?’ He realises he has automatically slipped into their code, so to be more precise he tries again: ‘Where’s Nanao? Maria’s guy, where’d he go?’

  ‘Oh, him.’ Lemon jerks to his feet and tries to push past Tangerine into the aisle, but Tangerine stops him and forces him back into the seat.

  ‘Wait. First tell me what happened.’

  ‘I let my guard down. Was I out?’

  ‘Like the power was cut. He must have got you good.’

  ‘Hey, he didn’t get me. He just cut my power.’

  ‘You didn’t try to kill him, did you?’ Tangerine had expected that Lemon would do no more than knock Nanao around and tie him up.

  ‘I mean, I go
t excited. Listen, Tangerine, that guy’s wa-a-ay tougher than I thought he’d be. And when I run up against someone tough, I get excited. It’s like how Gordon’s the fastest train on Sodor Island and when there’s a challenger he gets all juiced and goes at top speed. I know exactly how he feels.’

  ‘Momo called and told me a bit about him. Apparently underestimating the guy can be deadly.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so. I underestimated him. Why would Murdoch have been here, anyway?’ Lemon pauses for a moment and looks around. ‘Hey, wait a second. This isn’t my seat.’ He moves to reclaim his spot next to Little Minegishi, unsteady on his feet. It’s clear he’s still a bit out of it.

  ‘You stay here. Rest for a minute. I’ll go and look for him. He’s somewhere on the train. He knew I was in the toilet ahead of our car, so it’s a safe bet he went towards the back.’

  Tangerine heads down the aisle. The door opens to the gangway between cars three and two. No toilet or sink here. One glance is all he needs to tell that there’s nowhere anyone could be hiding.

  Assuming Nanao came this way, Tangerine figures he’ll be able to corner him easily enough between here and the back of car one. Nanao’s options are limited: he could be in a seat, or crouched in the aisle, or squeezed up on the luggage rack, and if none of those then somewhere in the gangway, or else in a toilet or by a sink. That’s about it. All Tangerine has to do is thoroughly check cars two and one and he’ll have his man.

  He calls to mind what Nanao was wearing when he spotted him earlier. Black glasses, jean jacket, cargo pants.

  Then he steps into car two. A smattering of passengers, no more than a third of the seats filled, all sitting facing the door where Tangerine enters.

  Before checking each face he takes in the whole scene at once, like a camera snapping a wide shot. He’s looking for any reactions at the moment of his entry. If anyone had stood up suddenly, or averted their gaze, or gone tense, he’d have noticed.